Murder of a Wedding Belle (24 page)

“In different circumstances.” Skye toyed with her silverware. “But . . . I don’t know how to explain it. I guess it just seems like a forced good time to me. Everyone is so rich and so successful, but no one seems really happy.

“Look at Belle and her hunger to be famous. Who knows what she did to achieve that ambition.” Skye’s lip curled in disgust. “Then there’s the fact that even though she was already wealthy, it wasn’t enough for her; she had to scam the vendors for more money. The sheer greed is appalling.”

“But hardly surprising,” Wally commented. “Look at the CEOs who take huge bonuses even when their companies are going bankrupt.” His expression was unfathomable. “My Dad’s friends are like that. They have everything, and it’s still not enough for them.”

“Yes. If one of them has something, it seems the others don’t rest until they have the same thing, only better.”

“My mom used to say envy slays the simple.”

“That’s a valuable thought to keep in mind.” Skye’s face was sober. “It’s so easy to slip into the quicksand of jealousy and greed.”

They were silent; then Wally said, “I finally got hold of Belle’s parents this morning.”

“Did they have any excuse for apparently not caring enough about their daughter to interrupt their vacation and respond to your messages?”

“No. Her father was extremely unresponsive, even after I broke the news of her death.”

“Did they tell you anything helpful?” Skye asked.

Wally started to answer her, but an angry voice near the restaurant’s entrance interrupted him. “What do you mean you can’t take a hundred-dollar bill?”

A man in his early thirties was arguing with the Feed Bag’s owner, Tomi Jackson. She was a tiny woman; in fact, when she was working the cash register, all you could see of her was her platinum-blond beehive. Tomi, like her restaurant, was a fixture in Scumble River and appeared ageless, although she had to be at least in her sixties.

“Sorry.” Tomi’s voice was firm. “We don’t take anything bigger than a twenty.”

“Fine. Put it on my American Express.” The man shoved the plastic rectangle at the restaurant owner.

“Sorry.” Tomi shook her head. “We don’t take credit cards either.”

“That’s ridiculous!” The irate diner’s voice rose. “What, am I in Mayberry or something?” His suit was expensive, as were his shoes and watch. His appearance, as well as his attitude, made it clear he wasn’t from the area.

As Skye watched, the man leaned over the counter until he was nearly nose to nose with Tomi. When he poked her in the arm with his index finger, Wally slid swiftly out of the booth.

The infuriated customer was close to Wally’s six-foot-plus height, and the two men together were an interesting contrast. While Wally got his physique from hard work and his bronze skin from being outdoors, the other man clearly used a gym and a tanning booth.

Wally spoke to him in a low, soothing tone, but Skye couldn’t make out his words.

She did, however, hear the man’s strident reply: “I am not wasting my time trying to find an ATM machine or an open bank. If she won’t take my credit card or the hundred, then the meal is on her.”

Wally looked at Tomi, who said, “I can’t believe he doesn’t have anything smaller. His bill is only twelve bucks. I’d have to give him eighty-eight in change, and I don’t have that much. We deposited the day’s receipts an hour ago, just before the bank closed.”

“Then I’m leaving.” The man started for the door. “Thanks for the free dinner.”

In a move too fast for Skye to see, Wally had the stranger’s hands cuffed behind his back and was marching him outside.

Once the two men were gone, Tomi strolled over to Skye and said, “Smart-looking guy like that, I would have sworn he was brighter than to try to pull that kind of crap.”

“Light travels faster than sound,” Skye explained. “That’s why people often appear intelligent until you hear them speak.”

“You got that right,” Tomi agreed, and returned to the register.

Several minutes went by, and Skye was about to see if Wally needed backup when he strolled back into the Feed Bag. He stopped to hand the restaurant owner something, waved away the woman’s thanks, then rejoined Skye.

As he sat down, she asked, “What happened?”

“He miraculously found a twenty in his wallet.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I told him I’d throw his sorry ass in jail and forget where I put the key if he tried to stiff Tomi.” Wally chuckled. “After that, he folded like a lawn chair.”

“Why didn’t he just pay up to begin with? He certainly didn’t look poor.”

“It’s that sense of entitlement we were just talking about—like with my father’s friends and your cousin’s bridal party. He wanted to use the hundred, and when he couldn’t he threw a tantrum.”

“I guess that could be it.” Skye pondered Wally’s explanation as their food was served; then, once the waitress left, she said, “But why did he have such a hissy fit when he had the twenty all the time?”

“Because he’s a jackass.” Wally crossed his arms. “Guys like that hate to back down.”

“I wonder who he was.” Skye wrinkled her brow. Something didn’t add up. “He sure wasn’t from around here.”

“Probably off the interstate.”

“Maybe.”

As they were finishing their meal, an idea popped into Skye’s head and she leaned forward. “Maybe he wanted to use the hundred because it was counterfeit. Isn’t that how they do it—make a small purchase with the phony bills, and get real money as change?”

“Hmm.” Wally stood up. “You could be on to something. And just in case you are, I think I’d better drop a word of warning to the business owners around here.”

“Won’t the Secret Service agents be upset?” Skye stood, too. “Didn’t they want the whole counterfeit thing kept quiet?”

“Yeah, but I’m not letting my people get hurt.” Wally paid their bill and walked Skye to her car. “Besides, I’m sure by now Bunny has let the cat out of the bag.”

“True.” Skye slid in behind the wheel. “She’s not known for her discretion.”

“Have a good time at the shower.” Wally kissed Skye lightly on the lips, then shut the door of the Bel Air and strode toward his car.

She rolled down the window and shouted at his retreating back, “Obviously, you’ve never been to one of my family’s bridal showers. It’s like having a root canal. Without Novocain. By a really bad dentist.”

Skye drove straight to her mother’s. As she kept her eyes peeled for a stray cow, raccoon, or deer, she tried to figure out why the shower was being held at May’s.

Her mother had explained, but Skye was still fuzzy about the details. It had something to do with Anita’s and Dora’s homes being too small, but Skye was confused because her parents’ place wasn’t that much bigger. However, as Skye pulled into the already car-packed driveway, she got the picture. The party wasn’t being held in May’s house; it was being held in her garage.

At the same moment she understood the reason for the location, she realized her cousin was probably unaware of the arrangements. Riley had not wanted a shower, but her mother and grandmother had insisted. It was one of the few times during the whole wedding process that the bride had not gotten her own way.

Now Skye wondered what Riley would do when she found out her fancy friends would have to spend an evening in someone’s garage—even if it was cleaner and nicer than many homes.

Skye mentally shrugged, picked up her cousin’s present from the passenger seat, and got out of the Bel Air. This was one aspect of the wedding for which she wasn’t responsible.

Huge trees surrounded her parents’ redbrick ranch, and the acre of lawn was in putting-green condition. Sometimes she speculated that her dad used manicure scissors instead of a mower to cut the grass. The scene looked like a picture from
Country Living
magazine. The only jarring note was May’s concrete goose, which she had dressed in a bridal gown. May tended to clothe the fake fowl according to her moods, and Skye was relieved that this time the poultry’s attire fit the occasion and didn’t contain an underlying message aimed at her.

Skye’s gaze swept the open garage, which had been strung with pink crepe paper streamers and decorated with bunches of pink and white balloons. Mismatched tables and chairs were arranged around a long table covered with a white plastic tablecloth and sporting a centerpiece of pink carnations and baby’s breath in a milk-glass vase.

The scene was set, but all the chairs were empty. At least a half dozen cars were parked in the driveway, so where was everyone?

Before Skye could figure out the mystery of the disappearing shower guests, she heard someone holler, “What are you standing around outside for? Come in and give us a hand.” The salt-and-pepper-haired bundle of aggravation that had given birth to Skye stood in the open back door of the house with her hands on her hips.

“Hello to you too, Mom,” Skye muttered as she grudgingly headed inside.

She put her purse and the gift on top of the dryer in the utility room, took a deep breath, and readied herself to face both her relatives and a no-doubt-unhappy bride, then followed May through the swinging louvered doors.

The large green-and-white-striped kitchen-dinette was bisected by a peninsula. Usually stools edged the counter, but today a group of women aged forty to eighty was standing by it, talking nonstop as their fingers flew at their tasks. They all looked up as Skye entered and, after waving their hellos, went back to their conversations. Noticeably missing were Riley, Anita, and Dora.

Skye’s grandmother greeted her from the dinette table. “Sweetie, come give Grandma a hug.” When she had Skye enfolded in her arms, Cora said, “Thank you for taking over as Riley’s wedding planner. I was real worried when Miss Canfield passed away that they’d move the whole shebang to California.”

“You’re welcome.” Skye kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “I’m sure considering how wealthy Nick is, he would have found somebody to keep Riley happy.”

“Money may buy you a fine dog, but only kindness will make him wag his tail.”

Skye snickered. “Shh!” Trust her grandmother to neatly sum up what everyone else was thinking.

She was still hugging Cora when May ordered, “Grab an apron from the drawer, and start filling the relish platters.”

Skye released her grandmother, but before she straightened, Cora whispered, “I’m happy you’re helping Riley, but you be careful. You may not know this because you weren’t around when Riley was a teenager, but she had a mind of her own, and she got real mean when she was thwarted.”

“Good thing I’m not going to thwart her.”

“That’s what her high school boyfriend and some other folks thought, too.” Cora wrinkled her brow. “Don’t underestimate her like they did.”

Pondering her grandmother’s words, Skye grabbed jars of pickles and beets, plastic bags of carrots, radishes, and celery sticks, and a can of black olives from the refrigerator. Compartmentalized crystal trays were stacked on the counter, and she set to work. Was Cora implying that Riley might be responsible for Belle’s death? What had Riley done all those years ago that would make Cora warn Skye?

The women had begun to transfer the food from the house to the garage when Riley and her three bridesmaids entered the kitchen. Riley greeted everyone brightly and introduced Hallie, Tabitha, and Paige.

One of the younger women—Skye wasn’t sure who she was—rushed up to Riley and thrust a garishly wrapped gift into her hand. “Open this now.”

Riley complied, then stared at the pink Kleenex corsage she held. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“It’s for you to wear, silly.” The woman grabbed it from Riley’s fingers and pinned it to the stunned bride-to-be’s blouse. “I love giving homemade gifts.”

Riley’s face turned red and she scowled, but before she could respond, Ilene Denison, Skye’s cousin Kevin’s wife, said, “Yeah, me, too. Which one of my kids do you want?”

Everyone laughed, and May swooped in, putting her arm around Riley. “Honey, the rest of the guests will be arriving shortly. Why don’t you and your friends go outside to the garage so you can welcome them?”

“Sure thing, May.” Riley’s smile was strained, and as she and the others turned to leave, she grabbed Skye’s hand and whispered in her ear, “Come with us. I have no idea who most of these people are and Mom’s not here yet.”

“Where are Anita and Dora?” Skye asked. It was odd that Riley’s mother and grandmother weren’t helping the other women prepare for the party.

“Gram is with Mom, who’s still getting ready. She was wearing some god-awful dress she’s had for twenty years and I made her put on something better. Which is exactly why I wouldn’t let her or Gram help organize the wedding. I love them to death, but their taste is disgustingly middle-class.” Riley shook her head. “They want nice; I want ferocious.”

“Oh.” As Skye herded her cousin and the others toward the door, she tried to imagine forcing May to change her clothes, but she couldn’t picture it. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.” She had no intention of spending any one-on-one time with Riley. With her luck, the bride would think of something else she wanted Skye to do for the wedding.

With the guest of honor out of the way, the final stages of the refreshment assembly began. This was serious business, but everyone still took time to impart some advice to Skye or question her about the wedding preparations.

As Ilene and Skye were covering the chicken-salad-filled cream puffs with Saran Wrap before bringing them outside, Ilene asked, “Riley’s theme is Pink Fairy Tale, right?”

“Yes.” Skye nodded cautiously.

“Well, Kevin says to tell you he isn’t wearing tights. No matter how much Riley carries on.”

“Tights? Has Riley asked people to come in costume?” Skye crushed the piece of cellophane she had just torn from the cardboard cylinder. No way would the men in the family dress up as Prince Charmings.